a siren song
by unexpectedrevelations
Summary: Themes for an era; one for each year. Here they were; this is how it all began. Multi-Chapter, one chapter per character. Multiple-Paring, a bit of AU. II: Narcissa, 14-- She runs, laughing, enjoying the smell and sight and sound of it...
1. bellatrix

_I: thought [and we never know we're crazy until the wardens come]_

These stupid thoughts made it quite _hard_ to think, actually. She would shake her torrent of dark curls furiously, ignoring the stares from her fellow Slytherins and the sniggers from the Gryffindors, all of them too afraid to get close enough to really make her mad—for her anger was quite famous and her disregard for the emotions of others frightful, making her both the most feared person and the most sought-after female in the school, if only a fifth year. It was all very well to sit by the lake and muse alone, reveling in the delicious splendor of solitude, but the thoughts that came when one did not concentrate on what was on the agenda to think about for the day were, simply put, maddening. It made her feel like a lunatic in a cage, snarling and skulking about, long fingernails and wild hair, schoolmates and muggles alike poking their fingers through the bars to goggle at her.

_II: pretty [it's all in the eyes of the beholder, really—but what if he's not there?]_

It made her feel like a pathetic loser. Her dress, lacy and black and on the very cutting edge of madness, made the boys stare, their eyes wide with want. But she knew they wouldn't come until the dancing was done, and so she would stand fiercely on the outskirts, stolid and beautiful, her hair a wild heaven and her lips hazy red with foreboding. The multi fairy lights would glow and she would stare, in throat-hurting envy, at her pretty little sister in her pale blue whirling with Lucius Malfoy, while beside her, Severus would stare in almost the same way at Evans and Potter, his Adam's apple protruding from his skinny neck as he fidgeted lightly with the cuffs of his robes. Somehow, in the dark, their hands would find each other and grasp tight, knuckles almost white from the pressure of want overlayed upon need. It made her wonder what a delightful spectacle they might cause if they took to the floor. But she was Bellatrix, and so it was not to be. She only wished that the boys' eyes upon her were red, instead of that nasty grey color, and ached hard for her father's important (and handsome) friend, who had told her that she was a beauty.

_III: opposite [nothing can make one feel guilty, short of a paradox]_

Something about the way Lucius treated her sister made her wonder hard about him. She saw the way he stared longingly after her, even while knowing she was his, and the way his large hands clasped her small ones, the gentle cutting of their two pale jaws as they kissed sweetly, their matching blonde heads silky and iridescent. It made her feel all the more powerful and positively triumphant afterward, as said blonde Slytherin seventh year fucked her hard against the dungeon wall. After the sex, he would kiss her so bruisingly that her lips were swollen for days, and so unfeelingly that she almost wanted to cry; _almost._ She wanted to ask him if he kissed her sister like that, but knew the answer would be a scornful 'what do you take me for?' look that indicated an explicit _no._ Because even if he had kissed her sister like that, she knew he wouldn't have meant it. Lucius loved little Narcissa, for all her foolishness and naïveté. Bellatrix was different; dark and hollow and impossible to hurt; dying inside but really impossible to love. She wouldn't let them? No, they only wouldn't let themselves.

_IV: real [why are you, of all people, the only one who can ever hope to understand?]_

She and Severus were too alike for words. Though, of course, she would never dream that she herself was as ugly as he was. These weekend walks never got tiresome, really; each of them could give what the other wanted most in the world. Bellatrix could give Severus a pretty girl to walk beside, hand-in-hand, causing Potter and his crew to stop in their tracks and gawk in awe and envy and that utterly _unmentionable_ redhead to sneer and snipe while pouting quite noticeably. Severus gave Bellatrix something to pretend upon; it was all so easy to delusion herself into thinking (if only for a moment) that he actually cared. It was fun to get out of the drudgery of schoolwork and the hulking haunting crumblestones of the dark castle. Out here, everything was unfriendly and bright and intoxicatingly sane and positively _wild. _It was only when they sat ramrod straight under the great oak together, muttering words of sheer loathing while their hands were still curiously intertwined, that she ever understood that love was never what it was supposed to be. And she was grateful for Severus, for even if he was only pretending, it was so wonderful to tell herself that she had a friend.

_V: macho [it's better, really, being one of the guys]_

It wasn't really that she didn't know why they preferred her company; it was that she held all the power with them. Though Lucius was the much-ballyhooed leader of their little pack, she was the unspoken authority, the only girl and a very sexy one, at that. She would sneak out of her dorm to meet the boys on the other staircase, and they would slip silently, some of them giggling girlishly to an icy glare from Lucius or a fiery one from Bellatrix, down below the school to the very cavernous heart: the dungeons. They would form a circle there, the absence of light seeming so rebellious that even Severus would positively gleam with excitement. It didn't much matter what they discussed, whether it was which Slytherin girl was the best lay (Bellatrix would make a little smirk as the boys all turned their eyes towards her) or their eagerness to receive their marks (at this point, Lucius would pull up his sleeve for all to admire). She would stealth back into her dorm as morning danced lithely into the little picture-window, ignoring the cries of "Bellatrix!" as Cissy, Greengrass, and Parkinson pulled their pillows over their heads at the outrage of losing beauty sleep.

_VI: sisters [she'll always be there, even when you hate her so much you want to tear out her hair and your own]_

Cissy was the only one _ever_ allowed to call her Bella. She would, of course, make a few exceptions later in life, but would never forget her little sister's childish overuse of the very fitting nickname. Her sister was a much-taunted beauty, a little girl who seemed never to grow up, a child who forever seemed to let her love get the better of her. Sometimes, though, when Bella sat on Cissy's bed while her sister painted her nails a ghastly, nauseatingly over-feminine pale pink, Narcissa would sigh and stare out the window, her blue eyes always searching. Bella would pretend to be interested in the latest copy of _Über-Witch, _Narcissa's favorite magazine, until Cissa turned sharply toward her and exploded, _Doesn't he love me at all? _Bella would put down the giggly mag, turn to her sister, and say, _Of course. _A crystal tear would drip down Narcissa's porcelain cheek (so unlike Bella's messy, over-hysterical crying) and she would utter primly but shakily, _Then why does he make me wait? _Bella then would always scooch up to the headboard to sit beside her sister, put her arm around her, and croon, _Shhh. Shhh. He'll come, you wait and see. _By and by, he did come, and Bellatrix would have to watch them strut about-and-out together, impeccable and flawless, leaving her alone in the empty common room. It made her feel horrible inside, but not as horrible as she felt when _he_ had caused her baby sister such heartache.

_VII: day [haven't you noticed that black tends to look striking in the sun?]_

Black was, undoubtedly, her very favorite color, for obvious reasons. It went well with her dark hair, which was supposedly going to turn entirely black when she reached her twenties, something she couldn't wait for. Yes, Bellatrix loved all things black, which led her to love the darkness, which led her to hate the day. It was so bright, and so falsely cheerful, and made her want to run and jump and dance for joy, which disgusted her. She walked round with a permanent scowl on her face, while inside, she seethed and bubbled with repressed elation. One day she was grounded, however; thrust shockingly into a clean blue sky, heart aflame with spindly green wings. Severus Snape sauntered up, murmuring, _Why the long face? _She scowled, wanting to bite back the same question at him but deciding quite wisely to save her breath. He breathed right into her ear, whispering, _I hate you. _Her answer ruffled his raven hair, borne away crazily like a scarlet leaf on a wayward breeze: _I hate you more. _He drew back, not even pretending to be offended. _Kiss me, Bellatrix Riddle, _he ordered, and she complied, their lips grating sloppily against each other in such a perfectly imperfect kiss that she forgot to question the Riddle. She drew back, scowling again, but inside, her grin was wider than the sunshine.

_VIII: water [he's a rebel, same as you—he's only chosen the wrong side and you the right—or is it the other way round?]_

When the spring got warm enough to touch, she would steal away from the stately family dinners, running purposefully into the woods, where she knew her little stream-thing waited. It would always be there, burbling away, and she would practice her dark magic until she couldn't wait any longer, then shucking off her robes and stockings, skydiving into the water, arms and legs flailing in the fear of flying. Clothed in nothing but her bra and underwear, she would duck her head under the chilly water and scream, the force making bubbles in the crystal-clear liquid. Coming up utterly refreshed, she'd float on her back like a soap bubble and daydream the afternoon away. Sirius followed her once, and after, never stopped coming. He stood and stared at her pale body, toes curling over the edge, as she did nothing but tilt her head and lazily open her black eyes to stare back at him. _You're crazy, cousin, _he laughed, and then, _I can see what all the Slytherins and half of Ravenclaw are raving about. _She raised an eyebrow at him: _Why don't you come in? _and so he did, canonballing and completely naked. She'd forgotten that Sirius was never one to do things halfway; she'd forgotten a fair bit of things about her cousin, who used to be her favorite. They splashed each other and shouted in laughter and hoped that the rest of the family would never come. They stayed in that water until their bodies were wrinkled like prunes, and, when it got too late and cold to move, shook out their identical raven curls and dressed again, before glaring at each other and stalking back to the manor on separate paths.

_IX: betrothed [he's gay; or perhaps immune to lust]_

Rodolphus Lestrange was _not_ handsome. He was _not_ interesting, and _not _very smart, and _not_ anyone Bellatrix wanted to spend the rest of her sorry life with, that was certain. He was just a whole bunch of _nots_, and that added up to a whole lot of _nothing_—a whole lot of a _hole._ Musing on this wasn't fun; it was frustrating and stupid. Narcissa was lucky; she was betrothed to someone she was madly in love with, even if he was the least decent man on the planet. At school, Bellatrix would call Lestrange 'Roddy' and climb on his lap, grinding her hips against his, while he stared out the window in apparent solemnity. The other boys would whoop and holler and beg for some of their own, but Rodolphus chose to irritate Bella, because he was most of all _not_ responsive. At her parent's house, Bellatrix would dress pointedly in her most revealing robes, and sit directly across from Rodolphus, laughing and smiling and lowering her long lashes wickedly. Narcissa looked shocked and demure at her sister's behavior, and her parents cast disapproving glances her way, but Bella knew this at least: their marriage was going to be miserable, and Rodolphus would make it so.

_X: bubbles [leaving at the beginning makes impossibly sure you'll never get left behind]_

Bellatrix loved bathing, especially in the prefect's bathroom, where she did not belong. It was invigorating to break the rules so deliberately; she almost wished a prefect (or even better, a teacher) would walk in on her and order her out. So every day, five minutes into History of Magic, she would raise her hand and give Professor Binns a simper as she asked to go to the loo, and it worked like a charm every time: out she was, out free to roam the school, with her perfect attendance record unmarred. She would usually make her way to the prefect's bath and turn on all the taps, filling it up with scalding water and rainbow bubbles. She'd float naked in it until lunch hour, then clamber out and dry off, skipping ahead to join her fellow Slytherins on the way to the dining hall. It was the perfect way to skip class—and who really cared about History of Magic, anyways? The only History class she'd enjoy was one where they'd learn about her own history, and she was sure that this particular subject _(The History of the Most Noble House of Black) _would never be offered in a school with such a buffoon for a Head.

_XI: slave [orders, always orders—aren't you in bondage too?]_

Bellatrix loved the house-elves, really she did. The very idea of such a personage (*cough* _elf-age_) sent a little yummy quiver up her spine, the same one which came whenever she screamed, _MILLA! _at the top of her lungs and the little wizened brown thing came running, bowing and scraping and muttering nervously, squeaking in fear all the while. Milla really was quite an excellent elf, so undyingly loyal, thanks in the most part to Narcissa, who called it 'a dear little thing' and often petted the top of its ugly bald head as if it were a dog. Bellatrix preferred to practice her dark magic on this one, particularly because it would always leap up, stammering, _Yes, Mistress,_ after every _Cruciatus_ or _Imperious_. At this, Narcissa would cry and shriek and run for the bedroom to sob, and 'Dromeda, when she was still around, would scream at Bellatrix to _Stop it, now! _before taking the same route as Cissa had. Bella would feel an odd thrill-twisty in her stomach and think, _Cowards. _It was just as well, though, the nauseous pain that would come after, with the realization that _she_ herself would act as a slave to any one of the men who wanted her.

_XII: unwanted [being the favored child IS the aim]_

She still recalled that day, standing before the mirror with Cissy and 'Dromeda, ages nine, six, and five, respectively. She'd looked at Narcissa's silver-blonde hair (so like their mother's) and Andromeda's copper-colored locks (so like their father's) and asked, while frowning in puzzlement at her riotous cloud of ebony curls, _Why do I look so different from you? _Her childish words were always remembered, more so because it was _true_: even at six her prominent bone structure and black eyes were an obvious contrast with Cissa and 'Dromeda's delicate cheekbones and china-blue eyes. Andromeda had gazed contemptuously at her younger sister and spat, _Because you were a mistake. _Bella's lower lip had trembled and her eyes had flashed and a few objects had gone crashing to the floor, while she insisted, _No! No, you're a LIAR, Andromeda Black, and I DON'T believe you! It's true, _Andromeda had shrugged, _I heard mother talking to Mrs. Malfoy about you, she said you were a 'problem' and she and father only ever meant to have me, but once you were here they figured they needed another one to round us out. Ask her if you don't believe me! Go on, ask! _Bella had dissolved into tears, knowing at once how her mother and father seemed to adore her sisters and simply overlook her. Even now! Even now that Andromeda had left, blacked off the family tree, her mother and father doted on Narcissa and turned away from her in a kind of fear, as if something was wrong with her and always had been. Bella _pretended_ she didn't care; she _pretended_ very well. But deep down inside, she figured that she'd have three daughters of her own someday, and she'd name the first one _Prudence_, and the last one _Lolita_, after a muggle book Severus had told her about. But the middle one, she'd name _Morgana_, and she'd love that little girl so much! Really love her, and she would _tell_ her so. It was all-important, the _telling_.

_XIII: elegant [it feels so good to be admired]_

Once it was known that she was favored by the man her father called The Dark Lord, Bellatrix felt a kind of pride in her heart that seemed to emanate forth. It wasn't only that the man was handsome (for he was, despite his scarlet eyes) or that he looked at her in such a way, as if she were the only woman in the world, it was that he admired her skill at dark magic. He told her that she was the very brightest girl he'd ever seen, and she glowed with satisfaction. Her parents were proud too, and _that_ was the most important. The Dark Lord planned to take her on, teach her himself, it seemed, and once this was known, her parents threw another one of their famous parties—this time, for _her_ and _her alone_. They made her wear white. They made her wear white and she was determined to hate it, but once the gauzy dress was on her, she glaring furiously at her reflection, her mother gaped and Cissa gasped and she _saw_ that she was beautiful. The dress was as light as fairy wings, all of goblin-made lace and spider silk. And in the great gold ballroom, graceful and poised, on the arm of the most important man in the world, she felt as if she were flying. She was fifteen and he thought she was beautiful. And what was more, everyone did. She could tell by the way they stared.

_XIV: initiation [becoming who you are—or who you think you are—is liberating]_

It was sublime. It was decadent, invigorating, pleasurable, exhilarating. It was _good_, and for a moment, _good_ was all she knew. Her lord's want poked at the pale, papery underside of her left forearm and, slithering bitingly, a thick, inky snake-and-skull commenced to brand her thin arm. Bella gazed at it transforming, transfixed at the winding pain, and as the searing heat ceased, irises snapped up and she held his in hers, her eyes wide and trusting, his glinting with some inexplicable unforeseen delight. She looked about her and the world was transformed. It seemed she was taller, her vision sharper, her body tenser yet limber. Lucius stood by, giving her a satisfied nod. Bella credited herself for not blushing; for any other girl, she was sure, would have. And Severus, lurking in a dark shadow, nursing his new mark as if it hurt him but trying to hide it all the same, said-without-saying, _This was a mistake. _Bellatrix gave him a disdainful glare, tossing her curls invisibly, then turned back to her lord and stared at his eyes again. She found power in them, and power was thrilling, and thrilling washed over and she knew she was important. Severus's words seemed to echo over and over but she pushed them away, steeling herself to just _watch_ and be _watched_. He looked at her and she looked at him and the world held its breath; but Severus was still there, almost-calling-out, _Bella, this was a mistake. _

_XV: want [and you know you'll always be the same]_

She was fifteen. It was unbeknownst to her how many of them there were, but the only ones she knew of were herself, Severus, and Lucius. For the first time, she felt happy, complete, full, powerful, but never—never loved. Love was a fairytale, and love simply didn't happen. She accepted the world as it was, and with it, accepted that he couldn't love her back. And so she would wait—_his,_ his most faithful, his most loyal, one and always _his,_ forever yearning for something she couldn't have and didn't dare touch. It was already so; and she knew it would be thus for as far as she could look forward, as far into the future that she could manage. She didn't dare remind herself that she was a fool; Severus could be the one to do that. But she wasn't free. She wouldn't ever be free, not until the very last realization that Sev and Cissa had been right all along, but that—that didn't bear thinking of, didn't merit admittance. And so she was fifteen, and childhood was over. She wasn't the girl that she was; and this hurt most of all. She wasn't really anything, and so she made herself cast musings aside, grow straighter and stronger and harsher, until she was nothing else but _his._ But then—then, after all, she could never really be.

And so she stood, and forgot, and waited to live. But really _[really she was only waiting for life to pass her by]_

_end_


	2. narcissa

_I: bushes [catch-me-if-you-can— splendiferous]_

She runs, laughing, enjoying the smell and sight and sound of it, just wonderful, dazzling all at once to her eyes, showing her what it means to love. He turns swift, the propriety fading from his face, a rakish grin taking its place… but she can't see, for she has already taken wing, soaring high, soaring low, happy that he can always _always_ see her. Across the meadow goes the chase, she shrieking, he growling playfully, until she turns sharp at a rose bush and ducks down behind, breathing hard. Her face is flushed, her blonde hair mussed, her dress windswept, her eyes so _alive_. She glances warily by, and there he is all at once, frightening her beyond belief so she just _has_ to push him down in the grass and kiss him, him _adorable_ him with his matching silver hair all ruffled in the wet grass, much to her unadulterated delight.

_II: lies [where haven't you been?]_

_Do you think I'm stupid? _He frowns down at her, his perfect hair and perfect face and perfect silver eyes, all seeming too perfect for words and stabbing her heart, oh, stabbing harder than ever before. _No, Cissa, no, what do you mean? _He furrows his brow, and she wants so hard to believe him, so very hard… and so, somehow she does. _No, Lucius, it's my fault, I've been silly, really… _she allows herself to blush and cast her eyes down, enjoying his attention so much, but feeling some stupidity still lingering inside. She looks up at him again, the vision of he-and-Violet snogging by the lake like animals still waltzing like jerky puppets before her eyes, but she pushes it away, _it must have been a dream, _and takes his arm, throws her head back in perfect Malfoy dignity, then asks, _Shall we go, then? _And he responds (as she must have known he would), _Yes, we shall. _

_III: pink [they see me as a washed-up china-doll slipping-rose beauty—what if that's what I really am?]_

Narcissa sees the glances her sister Bella gets. The boys stare in slack-jawed admiration, ogling mercilessly at Bella's beautiful, wild hair and her (admittedly prodigious) breasts, and Narcissa feels a bit left out. Lucius thinks she is a doll or something; that must be it, for she's begged him for sex a number of times but he always says, _No, Narcissa, you're too young, _and she knows that this is what he believes is so. He does look at her in a sort of wanting way, but always held back, always checked, as if she is too young and delicate for such harsher things as of yet. But this doesn't stop her from asking, _But don't you want me? _and he will always answer, _Yes, darling, of course I do, but it's more than that. _Narcissa knows better than to ask what the _more_ might be, but she wants to believe it means love. For she loves her Lucius and she knows that he will never stray from her side, not for anything. She in her pink and roses and everything graceful and elegant and _right_—of course, he would, how could he not?

_IV: smart [haha. haha, Bella, hahahahahahaha; and the feeling—to laugh—is intoxicating]_

Narcissa likes being smart. She likes being top of the class and teacher's favorite and top scorer on the O.W.L.S.—in her year, of course; Severus and the redheaded muggle-born from Gryffindor had done better than her the year before—but it is most of all Bella's jealousy. Bella isn't a girl for the inkwells or quills or the long musty scrolls of parchment which Narcissa loves so dearly. Bella is good at dark magic and that is about it. Narcissa is good at potions, at charms, at transfiguration, at herbology, at D.A.D.A, heavens, even at _divination_—and it is a triumph over her sister, at once, as if to say, _See, I'm good at more than standing and being pretty, _but Bella says, _Shove off, slut, and go fuck your boyfriend, _and Narcissa bites her lip and thinks that Bella's words are probably something of an oxymoron because Bella is the one who is really the slut, so she says so and Bella glowers and reaches for her wand to hex her and Severus—he says, _Bella, you're smart in a different way. _And Bella preens and Sev glows and Narcissa smiles gratefully at him because this—this seems to make all the difference.

_V: seriously [the ones I've left behind are the ones I'll miss most] _

She missed her cousin. It wasn't _stupid,_ though, not like, _Oh Sirius I miss you so I can't live without you oh! _It was more like, _Sirius, there's a hole in my chest now, and even though you're still here, you're not really with me. With us. _She remembered the howls and shrieks and dramatic-tearing-of-hair (_Bella_) at Sirius' sorting, when she was still only ten and waiting to go to Hogwarts the next year. It had seemed an uproar, and uproars Narcissa did not like. It was easier to understand, now, the rift that was between them. Narcissa still sometimes wanted to call out to him, _Sirius! Let's go walk together by the lake, c'mon, it'll be fun! _But she couldn't, and the words stuck in her throat like the shy little girl she had been—she still _was._ But all in all, she could never hate him, as Bella did. Bella's rationalization was that he had left them behind, but, while Narcissa couldn't disagree with this, she also couldn't help but admire her cousin—for who, even Bella, had not yearned to break the rules some of the time? But Bella _had,_ and so had 'Dromeda, and Regalus, and Sirius most of all… she missed him _so_. And she loved him still, for the same reason Bella hated him. She loved Sirius for showing them all what they could be_–it was always too what she could __**never**__ be—_ if they only wanted it hard enough. She loved him for this, and liked to think he'd done it all for her.

_VI: huge [to gasp, to draw a staggering breath, to imagine, to live]_

She was easily astonished. Always, even though she'd come to expect magnitude, she was continually blown away by it. The bigger or more perfect the better; and the better the more breathtaking. At Hogwarts, her first day—she remembered just standing and gaping while students milled around excitedly, hopping and scrambling for a boat without any real direction. Cissa stood there on the slippery rocks and opened her eyes wider, as if to take in even more of the lovely castle and the friendly orange torches, winking at her out of the black, until she slipped and fell, scraping her knee against the sharp wet stones below. She had wanted to cry, but _Darling, are you alright? _and _he _had called to her, and she looked up and saw him, all emblazoned across her heart like a god, with his silver blonde hair and his emerald tie and his beautiful high cheekbones and chiseled jaw. _Oh,_ this was her first glimpse. She'd looked into his beautiful clear grey eyes and flushed pink and said, so boldly she didn't quite know where the words had come from, _Now I am. _That had been their beginning, and still she was dazzled by him, especially when he took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, as if they just might have been the only ones left who really _mattered. _

_VII: wish [little star, mine own—won't you come home?]_

Mama always said that Bella was her moon and that Cissa was her sun, but, even though she never said it any longer, Narcissa knew that Andromeda was still her shining star. Now, with 'Dromeda gone, their little sky was black, devoid of any guiding light. Bella didn't much care and Father pretended not to notice and Mama cried in secret but _never_ when anybody could see her, but Narcissa was forever hurt. Andromeda had _promised!_ She'd _promised_, and she had broken it. There was nothing worse than a broken promise to Narcissa, especially since she was one to take things for granted. Narcissa _needed_ Andromeda. Bella as a sister was all very well, but she was more like a friend whom you simply love to hate. She needed 'Dromeda here to dry her tears and give her advice on Lucius and help with homework—she needed her more, perhaps, than anything. She treasured the day the Polaroids came in the mail—Andromeda in a simple white dress with a stomach as round as a melon; her sandy-haired mudblood sweetheart with his arm round her waist, both of them smiling and laughing and posing as if they could never be happier. There was one other photo in the envelope, one of Andromeda with a magenta-haired baby wearing a pale pink romper on her lap, mouthing, _Nymphadora, say hello to your Auntie Cissa! _Whenever Narcissa withdrew the envelope from under her bed, and pulled out the two photos to look at them over and over, her eyes leaked tears and her slim shoulders shook with restrained emotion. She had to accept that it would always be this way, that she would never have any link to her sister except through these precious two photos. Otherwise, her sister was dead. But she had to keep telling herself this—_my sister is dead my sister is dead my sister is deadeadead—_to make sure she really believed it.

_VIII: favorite [she'll always be here to make me laugh; this I know for certain]_

Lucius was prim and proper and oh so handsomely charming, but when Narcissa could get him away from—well—people, he was everything else as well: a dashing daredevil, a swain wooing a siren, a magician of emotions. They loved to fly together most of all, she in front, leaning into him with his strong arms around her slender waist, their matching silver-blonde hair whipping in the simulated breeze. Often, she would twist about and fling her own arms round his neck and kiss him so hard, the broom would do a large dip in the air, perilous and fluttery, so exciting she forgot to be scared. Lucius would moan into her mouth as he kissed her back, and attempt a grope at her breasts but couldn't manage it because of the altitude, and then suddenly regain control of the broom and whisper in her ear as they flew safely once more, _Love, you're amazing. _Once, he hadn't managed to tear himself away from the kiss quickly enough, and so the broom had to smash into a willow tree (only a non-magical one, thank Merlin) and utterly capsize itself. Lucius had climbed down easily enough, but Narcissa was caught on a topmost branch, and, her teeth chattering, suddenly realized her fear of heights. Bella ambled up, cackling madly at their predicament, and queried, _Oi! Cissy, got yourself stuck up a tree? _Lucius nodded stiffly, as if to say, _Need this inviolable situation be made any more palpable in order for your primitive mind to understand? _Calling to Narcissa, he then said, _Don't fret, Cissa! I'll have you down in a jiffy! _Bella looked cross, and then, folding her arms across her chest so she greatly resembled a sharp and scrawny bird, said, _What the hell is a jiffy? _Narcissa had burst out laughing, and of course, Bella had to follow, and the sight of Lucius looking from one Black sister to the other in a frantic state of befuddlement made them laugh all the harder.

_IX: truth [it kind of hurts. I think I'd rather be in the dark]_

After the most recent sighting, Narcissa finally saw through the veil of lies she'd been told. It wasn't from a distance this time, like all the other times when she'd thought she'd seen Lucius and Violet Parkinson snogging by the lake; it was in her very own dormitory, on the bed to the right of hers. She gave a little gasp, and Vi and Lucius broke apart at the sound, and Lucius looked into her eyes and she could do nothing but turn and run, sobbing, to the common room where Bella and Severus sat across from each other by the fire. _What's wrong? _Bella lept up at once from her seat on the couch. Narcissa couldn't see for the tears brimming in her blue eyes, so she threw herself in the general direction of her big sister and sobbed, _Lucius… _That was all she could get out, but Bella knew. Bella hugged her sister to her, letting her weep into her rampant mane of raven hair. Narcissa then could only cry and cry, but she heard Severus say, _Bellatrix, aren't you going to tell her about you and… _and Bella said, _No, no, I couldn't do that. _Severus' voice came, _Then you must stop. _Narcissa heard Bella sigh and say, _I know. I know, and I will. I promise. _

_X: frivolous [girls just wanna—oh, don't you know the words already?]_

When Narcissa was upset, she went shopping. So it was no surprise to Bella when, the very next Hogsmeade weekend, she was woken by a "BELLA!" from her youngest sister. Narcissa was dressed and she was _ready. _And although there were much better shopping companions to be had than her sister, the girl in question was at the moment being stoically ignored for the horrible slight of the night before. Bella woke, groggy, and asked, _Wha time ish it? Ahaaggg… _and upon seeing that it was _only_ six o'clock, clocked Narcissa in the face with her pillow and unwillingly dragged her skinny body out of bed. They did it all that day: all the couture boutiques Narcissa adored, the shop for body potions and beauty products, the three bookstores, Honeydukes, the Hog's Head Pub (where Bella, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Mulciber nicked a few bottles of firewhiskey and drank shots of the stuff until only Bella could continue knocking them back) even the little _Magick of the Darkest _shop which Bella favored. In the jewelry store, where Bella licked a cherry dragonfruit lollipop (the sight of which Narcissa mentioned would make Potter and Pettigrew drool) they tried on countless diamond rings and giggled about Bella's engagement to Lestrange until Narcissa felt a horrible ice in her chest when she realized that she was _still _going to marry Lucius, whether she liked it or not. Her face crumpled, and Bella hugged her as she sobbed, and it seemed that there was nothing she could do to un-break that heart of hers, because she _still _loved him, even after he had betrayed her.

_XI: kiwi [you're exotic; you're mine; won't you tell me you love me…]_

And suddenly, it was spring, and Easter break, and Narcissa and Bella were home. Home was a bit empty now, without 'Dromeda there, but they did their best to fill it up. It would be an unforgivable slight to say that they failed miserably. One day, the fireplace crackled loud, and Mrs. Malfoy and Lucius stepped out, and Bella pushed Narcissa hard in the direction of the exit. Strangely enough, she wasn't crying. She ventured out to the garden and sat under a pretty tree with funny wooly brown fruits, twirled a white crocus between her fingers, and waited. And suddenly, there he was before her. He picked one of the fruits and peeled it skillfully with his wand, the curl of hairy rind falling on the grass as if dead. Inside, the fruit was a shocking bright green, with a sweet white interior and jet-black seeds. Silently, Lucius fed her pieces of the kiwi fruit until her white cotton sundress was stained with juice, and she leant forward and held the side of his face with her hand and kissed him, and he kissed her back, overpowering her with the force of his need. Her heart swelled with affection, and she pulled away regretfully, looking searchingly into his grey eyes. He dropped his head suddenly, his hand still caressing her jaw. _I'm sorry, _he murmured, and his unspoken words broke the silence, louder than anything she'd ever heard: _I love you, Narcissa Black. _

_XII: torn [black or copper? Or perhaps—perhaps sun…]_

Narcissa wanted to be a rebel. She wanted to be brave, and strong, and (even though she loved him) wanted to do something _without_ Lucius. She had always been told to follow her heart, and frankly, the death eater business wasn't all that appealing. She guessed that being a death eater trophy wife was a bit better, but not by much. She wanted to take Lucius and run away, far away to somewhere where they would live as muggles in a white-shingled house and grow pink roses and eat peach cobbler that _she_ had made, and raise children, a blonde boy and girl. But she knew, when she really thought about it, that she couldn't ever do something rebellious or even hope to follow her own heart, because Bella and 'Dromeda had already done it. She had been pegged, from birth, as the obedient one, and that wasn't going to change. She just missed both of her sisters, who had left her already, leaving her without a choice of where to go. It made it all the more sorrowful when Bella found the pictures from Andromeda under Cissa's bed, and, without an inkling of remorse, ripped them manually to shreds while Narcissa wept and pleaded for her to stop.

_XIII: unforgettable [and I know I'm your girl, ready at once to slip into the shadows, where I don't belong]_

It was the night everything changed. At Bella's party, Narcissa wore Slytherin emerald green, and danced every dance with Lucius while Bella whirled with the frightening man called The Dark Lord. Lucius looked amazingly handsome in his smart black dress robes, and Narcissa felt so lucky, to be the most beautiful girl, paired up with the most beautiful boy. The two took a walk outside, and Lucius held her close and kissed her harder than ever before and whispered, _I love you. _Narcissa looked hard at him and pleaded one time more, and he scrunched his eyes tight shut, deliberating, then shrugged his shoulders and said, _Why not? _He made love to her, there under the stars, and though it hurt dreadfully, she didn't cry. She only held him closer and closer to her until it seemed it was impossible to need with any more force, and whispered in his ear, _Never leave me. _He only held her even closer and whispered back, _I love you I love you I love you Iloveyouloveyouloveyouloveyou… _until the words blurred into each other and the only things left were his arms around her and the silver stars up above.

_XIV: ever [here we'll be. to want—to want it to have turned differently…]_

And so it was set. When Narcissa tried to imagine the future, she didn't have to try hard. She could already see herself and Lucius, holding hands like the teens they would be at an altar, white roses and pink ones floating up above, their delicate scent erupting throughout the room. Then they would hold each other tight and simply love until a baby came, as beautiful as both of his parents. She could imagine sending their son off to Hogwarts for the first time, and could see the glances their perfect family would attract as they stood together at King's Cross Station. But something inside her imagined another future, one with happy kisses and unrestrained dishevelment and wrinkled hands and spines bent from years of reaching down to help others up. She thought that she would almost die for this future, her pretty throat slit and her hair stained with scarlet blood. But she knew it was not to be. Already, she could see them all: Bella in her madness, Sev in his misery, and Lucius in his power—and she in her beauty. Narcissa was a girl who knew exactly what she wanted, but without the desire to _live_ for it, to know what it really meant to give everything for a dream.

Perhaps she really _was_ a doll, for, in the silver mirror of desire she saw nothing but those china-blue eyes, glazed from years of _standing still_, and that silver-blonde hair waxen from the terrible choice she had made—the choice of _[no choice at all]_

_end _


End file.
